Chapter 2

The next stop for the old man was the Bellmont Mansion, a luxurious estate built for the aged scowl-faced banking magnate, Harry S. Bellmont, who, being an entrepreneurial man rarely at home, had turned his unbelievably opulent and spacious mansion into a tourist destination.  

But on his way there, the old man became lost and stopped at what appeared to be a cramped boarding school in a state of unbelievable disrepair to ask directions. A tired-looking elderly lady answered the door.

"Good morning,"said the old man," I'm from out of town, and usually know exactly where I am, but for some reason, I presently do not. Could you tell me exactly where am I?"

"Well, yesterday, you would've exactly been at the doorstep of the Freemont Orphanage, in Freemont township." said the old woman,"But presently, you are at a condemned building foreclosed and repossessed by the Bellmont Bank. Where exactly are you headed?"

"Coincidentally, I was on my way to Bellmont Mansion, madam. I have a rather fancy golden pen to return there, presently. Is it far?"

"No. Three miles down and about two more to the right,"said the woman.

"Thank you. Good day," said the old man.

"No, it isn't for me,"said the woman,"But perhaps yours will be."

When the old man arrived at the Bellmont Mansion, it was just as he had left it, rolling green grounds garnished by colorful flower gardens leading up to the massive white stone-pillared estate.

But what was different on that particular day was that in the board room just off the lobby, Mr. Bellmont, his cold scowl now approaching ninety years, had gathered his family to discuss his will.

As the old man stepped up to the ticket counter, he said nothing, but pulled out the golden pen from his suit coat about to lay it down.

The receptionist returned the silence and pointed to the meeting room to which the old man gave a puzzled look.

"They're expecting you,"whispered the receptionist.

Still perplexed, the old man walked to the board room and quietly opened the door. Mr. Bellmont was seated in a wheelchair at the head of a large table, surrounded by his lawyers and the well-dressed lawyers beside the well-dressed family members they represented.

"I am a wealthy man,"began the tycoon, scowling at his posterity,"Presently, I have more fortunes than would fit in King Tut's tomb and we see how much good they did him dead."  

Then, noticing the old man, pen in hand, Mr. Bellmont motioned for him to approach. "At last, bring it here," he said.

The old man complied and brought him the golden pen. 

Then Mr. Bellmont continued with his speech from his scowling mouth, "As I was saying, I have no need for money where gold is used as asphalt–if, by the grace of God, I am worthy of such a place–and so I wish to do the most good for my three children, six grandchildren, and sixteen great-grandchildren with the nearly limitless fortunes that I have acquired. How shall I divide it all?"

"Well, father, you know I–"began one of the children. 

But his lawyer interrupted."Being the oldest son, my client is entitled to–"

But then he was interrupted by another lawyer, this one representing the second daughter,"And my client has a promising business venture that could further expand the–"

And the interruptions continued until it was nothing but noise and fingers directing that noise, filling the room.

During the confusion, the old man, having completed his purpose, was making his way back to the door and was about to step out when Mr. Bellmont shouted,"Wait!–you there. What exactly do you think should be done?"

Stunned, the family and their lawyers suddenly got quiet.

"Well,"said the old man not thinking once again,"I can see that by the retainers paid in this room, your children seem to be presently well off enough. It would seem to me that the most good you could do for them would be to take exactly none of your nearly limitless fortunes and divide that up equally amongst them. And what to do with the rest? Well, on my way here I stopped at a place that yesterday was the Freemont Orphanage, but presently, has been foreclosed by your bank. I would take the exact remainder of your fortune and put it into fixing up and funding that place and do the same to exactly as many other orphanages across the country as your inheritance can reach."

"In God's name!" began one of the Bellmont children.

"Absolutely,"said the old man,"there should be no other way to do it, for He is The Bequeathor."

Then, as the old man walked out, and another man–the expected one with a golden pen in hand– entered the room, the noise resumed...

"Father, you can't be!–"

"This man has no legal right to!–"

"Where does he get the nerve?!"

"I'll sue! Can we sue??"

And a warm grin washed the scowl off Mr. Bellmont's face as sunlight touched the face of the old man on his way to return another pen...